Thinking and brooding over coffee
by Undertaker Lau
Summary: Dean has realised that his tastes in women have changed quite a bit. Or even that his tastes have changed, period. He needs to think about it and what could be best to do so than to have coffee? (Short sweet One-shot, TINY MENTION of Destiel , NO SLASH, rating T to be on the safe side)


Fandom : Supernatural

Disclaimer : I own nothing of this except the narration. The characters and their universe all belong to their owners. I am not making money with this – I mean, come on… Please don't sue me.

Rating : T to be safe.

Blahblah: This is either a long drabble or a very short oneshot, take your pick. Whichever pleases you the most.

Also, the person in charge of proof reading my stories is currently unavailable, so any mistakes will be his fault anyway –happily throwing him under the bus-. On with it!

**Warning :**Nothing much except for the mention of the possibility –see how far fetched a warning it is?- of a relation between two males / ! \ **If you are not at ease with this kind of thing,** **do not read**.

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**Thinking and brooding over coffee**

The man sat at a booth near the wall nursing a cup of coffee he got earlier. This whole thing was a mess. Nothing newsworthy when it came to his life… Dean took a small sip of the dark and bitter brew. The hot drink always seemed to have a calming effect on him and he'll be damned if he did not need to be calm as he had to reflect on his inner feelings. He snorted –_him_, of all people, _reflecting on his inner feelings_! Oh, the irony. For Dean Winchester did not dwell on his feelings, no. Dean Winchester silenced his feelings, got drunk, got in a fight, had sex, not necessarily in that order but always effectively shut his feelings down. Anything really, was better than dealing with what he felt.

Feelings, he thought, brought problems which, in turn, brought pain one way or another. He allowed himself some feelings for his close friends, his family (which consisted solely of Sam, if you counted the ones that were alive) and that was it. Even _that much_ already got him in loads of trouble... Otherwise, he was perfectly happy and sated with his one-night stands, easy pick-ups in bar and all that crap, he did not mind, they did not mind… Eh, consenting adults and whatnot, right? The endgame was to have fun, find some release and forget about his crappy self, so it was all good as long as he achieved this. _Right_?

Except, it was not the case anymore. He caught himself thinking more and more about Castiel, comparing his dates to him. How they talked, how they held themselves, how the soft planes and curves of their bodies seemed to be lacking… _something_. This stray unfinished thought had him scowling at his coffee. Since _when_ exactly was he finding faults with a woman's body? As if having to deal with his mind taunting him on the subject was not enough, he had recently picked up on another disturbing element. Now, this was starting to get all kinds of fun, because, of course, what he needed was complications. _Of course_. The women he had sex with started to look more and more like the angel. Natural brown shaggy hair, somewhat blank faced until they were back in the bedroom where all hell broke loose, deep blue eyes and those annoyingly enticing soft pink lips, had somehow wormed their way as the top features he was searching for in his potential one-night partners. No more bright red lips, long eyelashes or curvy blondes and redheads -god, he used to love redheads! A groan escaped him as even summoning the image of a voluptuous and positively sinfully gorgeous redhead did not so much as stir his blood anymore…

Heaving a deep sigh, he finished his coffee, and started to head back to the bunker. Dwelling on this proved itself to be unproductive by his standards. He would just go on doing things the Winchester way, avoid thinking about it at all costs, act dumbfounded when the problem'll be brought up –and sooner or later, it will-, be angry and brood about it for a while, then just see how it goes and devise a plan to work it out.

Happy with his simple way of thinking and deciding he actually had spent enough time on the matter for a day, he went up to the counter of the diner and asked for two slices of pie to bring back. Sure he would not have an answer to his problem but he was perfectly fine with it as long as he had pie. After all, it was a well-known fact that pie held all the answers –if cryptic ones- to people's problems.

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Well? Do you think like Dean that pie holds the answers you seek? Probably not, but it does help? Let me know! Any other thoughts on this story? I'd love to know them! Till next time!


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